Faultline
by RaichuTec
Summary: Putting a bit of life into Elly's Striketeam. [Yaoi] (Consider yourself forwarned.)
1. Faultline

(Standard Disclaimer: All characters and settings from Xenogears belongs to Squaresoft. I'm just playing with them for a bit, and promise to put them back when I'm done.)

Author's Voice: I hesitated for a long time to put this up. It's sort of an on going drama I've been creating in my livejournal that eventually was moved to my blog. However, enough of my friends have assured me it's decent enough in quality to stick it up, so here it is for your amusement/entertainment. There is the eventuality of yaoi in here. If you are not a yaoi fan, consider this your final warning. If you continue to read it anyway, I take no responsibility for your injured sensibilities.

**Faultline**

"Vance! Report! We've lost you on radar!" Renk's voice called out, static interrupting anything else he might have yelled into the comm. Unfortunately, the youth had enough to worry about and couldn't immediately reply. Around him red lights flashed and LEDs announced critical failures, overheating modules and other assorted disasters as the ClawKnight gear struggled to maintain power and keep from crashing down into the canyon below. Suddenly he regretted pulling out ahead of the others, desperate to prove to them that he wasn't some wet behind the ears kid who couldn't hold his own in battle.  
_  
"You stick near Broyer, Vance," Renk said as he set the orders in motion as the team prepared to go into the caverns and root out the problem. It was a simple mission, one meant to test out the new recruit and establish a sense of unity to the team. From what Vance witnessed and heard about so far, everyone took their last teammate's death rather badly. Part of the youth felt comforted and slightly accepted among them, but the irrational sector of his mind rebelled at the idea of hiding behind another gear. _

"No way, Renk. Come on, you want me to stick with the shield? He brings up the rear!"

"You got a problem with me, kiddo?" came Broyer's rather stony response.

"No offense, Broyer," Vance replied into the comm unit quickly. The last thing he wanted was to piss off the guy built like a brick shithouse. "But come on, Renk, how can I prove myself to you guys if you wanna baby me? Hell, Stratski's only a year older and you have him at the front of the pack!"

"That's because I'm not going to fuck up," Stratski chimed in with a derisive sounding snort.

"Stratski, that's enough. Take front," Renk cut in before the argument could go any further. "Vance, you stick behind me and Helmholz. Broyer bring up the rear. This is the way we work things in the beginning, Vance. Hold your own a few times and you'll take offense alongside Stratski. You may be the ClawKnight, but this is your first real mission. This ain't no practice run, you fuck up, you die and you might take us with you. We're a team, we work together. Got it? Promise me no stunts, hot shot."

"Got it," Vance replied after a moment of sulking back in his seat. "And fine, no stunts."

So, he ended up doing exactly what he had promised not to do. He never intended for it. Vance prided himself on being a fly by the seat of his pants kind of guy, which resulted in some unpredictable moments. The mission was supposed to be an in and out sort of deal. The five of them were to enter the mountain and find out what happened to a Gebler officer who supposedly took his team in and never came out again. If possible, they were to retrieve his gear, since Solaris didn't like leaving gears behind for anyone else to find and use.

Once inside, Vance found himself staring at the walls, swinging the ClawKnight's light sensors back and forth. The sound of condensation dripping echoed inside the little cockpit and the monitors displayed rough hewn walls and a tunnel wide enough to fit the Wand Knights abreast, but no more than that. So, it pinned him behind them whether he liked it or not. Sulking again, he slouched further into his seat and trained his view for straight ahead, right between Renk and Helmholz' gears. He could see the outline of the SwordKnight and only scowled more to think that Stratski was at the lead and would get to see action before Vance would.

But, most curious was a sudden blip of light that left all three gears ahead of him haloed for a brief second of time.

"Did you see that?" Stratski's voice came over the commlink unit.

"Yeah, a flash. Medusoids, probably," Renk replied, "Everyone, switch to infrared. These things can be nasty with their electric attacks. If you have ether armor, or Grounding use it now."

With a few flicks of switches and the turning of a dial, the world plunged into darkness for Vance. Instead of caverns, now he saw the hazy outlines of the gears in front of him and the world turned a strange shade of black and red. Red from the heat given off in front of him and the rest of the world remained black and cold. He saw the flashes more frequently then, and felt the adrenaline begin to flow at the idea of there being more than one. Then maybe, just maybe they wouldn't make him stick in the background and he'd get to show them a thing or two.

"More than one," Helmholz spoke the obvious, "You think this is a nest?"

"God, I hope not," Renk's voice sighed, "Ok, Stratski I know you're using the Hollow, so if you get too many lights reading critical status, you get your ass out of there this time and let Broyer back you up. Vance, you're me and Helmholz' backup, got it kid? And no heroics or stupid shit. That goes for you as well as Vance, Stratski."

"Got it," Vance replied soberly into the commlink unit. It chafed, knowing he wasn't allowed to engage except to help the others escape. The ShieldKnight did it all the time but that was Broyer's purpose, to wait and come in if the others needed his aid or needed him to get their asses out of the fire for retreat. Vance was meant for frontline combat in his gear and he was far too impatient to bother with this crap. Blue eyes drifted down to the needle cradled in a plastic half oval by the arm of his chair. Drive. A drug that wasn't to be used unless necessary, but ever since he'd first felt that heaven in his veins, Vance knew he'd found what he needed to get by. So sometimes, he snuck in a little bit of Drive when he wasn't supposed to. It got him through Jugend, after all, with scores high enough to rank him into this rag tag Striketeam. They were the best, he'd heard. The highest record for successful missions, the Knights of Solaris.

"My ass they're the best," he muttered to himself. Then he pulled the needle from its cradle and thrust it into his arm. It took only a moment before he felt the affects begin to wash over him. The entire world faded to gray and left him with a profound taste for coming violence. Grinning maniacally behind the gear controls, Vance knew what he had to do. He'd show Renk, he'd show Stratski, he'd show them _all_.

After a chorus of voices gave the OK from the rest of the team and they continued forward cautiously. Ahead the flashes of light continued, though they moved about steadily. Vance knew a little about Medusoids from the textbooks he'd neglected often enough. Cavernous creatures with electroids so powerful they used it to charge up and stun or electrocute their enemies in order to feed on them. A gear's worst nightmare if one didn't have the proper parts installed. Vance wasn't overly concerned. He'd had ether mach installed awhile ago and used it already to raise his defenses slightly against any oncoming elemental attacks. He simply had to find a way around the WandKnights in front of him.

"Incoming!" Stratski's voice called over the commlink. Somehow he sounded perfectly calm and composed. Ahead Vance could see the SwordKnight's outline suddenly rush forward, the clang of metal striking against something heavy heard directly, and not too far ahead. Though he couldn't exactly see it, Vance could well imagine the whiptails that slinked off the strangely shaped gear cutting through fleshy, translucent bodies. The visualization only lent to a frothing desire to get out into the midst of the combat, fingers twitching against the gearshift.

"It's a nest all right, everyone on your toes!" Helmholz spoke next. The WandKnights strode forward together, a pair even among the larger whole of the team. Flashing of red fire enaminated from their main cannons toward the overwhelming number of Medusoids that suddenly flooded the narrow space. Vance could see now that the passage ended abruptly into a huge, cavernous structure stretching so far and wide and high that it seemed to disappear into infinity. If not for the Drive in his bloodstream, he would have stared in awe, and then realized how much trouble the team had run into.

"Shit! Stratski let go of the Hollow! Get back here, there's too many of em!" Renk called out the order but the SwordKnight pilot didn't respond.

"I'm going in after him," Broyer lurched forward in the ShieldKnight, a gear so immense in girth and so heavily fortified with shielding and armor plating that it could withstand a lot of damage before succumbing to circuitry overload. It's what made him the shield for the others, able to dart in and pull a fallen gear's fat out of the fryer. Vance saw his opportunity then. With the WandKnights distracted and Broyer deployed to pull Stratski back, he simply detoured out from behind them and leapt into the fray as he soon found himself surrounded and suddenly cut off from the rest of the team.

"Vance! What the hell do you think you're doing!" Renk yelled. But Vance didn't bother replying, too far gone to the Drive in his system and the need for brutality. The metal claw rent flesh and tore through cartilage, no bones within the spineless, overgrown jellyfish to snap in half. For each he killed, two more would appear, sometimes three, crowding around him with a frenzy of sparks enaminating inside their translucent bodies. But they weren't attacking him, he realized, just sitting there like ducks in a row for him to slaughter.

"What the hell? These things don't attack or something?" he asked after jabbing a thumb down on the commlink unit talk controls.

"No, you idiot, they power up first and then they electrocute you," Helmholz' voice replied dryly, "You better have Grounding installed on that gear or you're toast."

"Hang tight, kid, this was stupid of you but we'll get you out," Renk sighed, saving his lectures for later.

Vance felt droplets of sweat begin to beat against his forehead, plastering bright red hair against his skin. He vaguely recalled Medusoids powering up but it seemed so distant thanks to the void that Drive left him in. He continued striking at the fleshy creatures surrounding him and did his best not to panic as he realized how many really did surround him.

And then came the first shockwave. It hit him from behind, forcing the ClawKnight to lurch slightly from the impact. Bells and whistles went off inside the cockpit, returning reports of light damage to the rear sector. Vance quickly redirected power supply away from the area of attack, anticipating a blow from the side instead as he caught another Medusoid hovering toward him in his peripheral vision cameras. The prediction proved true, and thanks to his quick thinking damage was minimalized and he rounded on the creature to tear it to pieces. Another hit struck him from the opposite side and then another and another. Vance soon realized how right Helmholz was. Even with his ether mach protections, he had no ability to protect himself from this level of continuous attack on his gear.

And that was how he came to be at the edge of the cliff, now. Sensors registered the drop, readouts declaring it to be at least fifty feet, enough to incapacitate the ClawKnight and possibly kill him in the process. But the Medusoids were not letting up. He'd given them the time to charge and in sheer numbers they were pushing him closer to the edge, even as he clawed and ripped and tore through their numbers in a desperate attempt to at least clear a path back to the others. The electricity messed with the commlink unit and he heard nothing but static interrupted occasionally by someone calling his name. He couldn't even reply to them, too busy concentrating. Besides, he doubted they'd hear him if he could answer.

The ground beneath the metal feet of the gear began to give way. Vance suddenly felt as if the jig were up. He settled his hands into his lap and didn't bother with the controls any further. He wondered briefly if they'd even retrieve his gear. Of course they would. Solaris didn't like leaving gears or parts out for others to salvage, if they could help it.

"Wake up you brat!"

The voice suddenly broke through the commlink static and startled Vance enough to realize that he was not alone anymore. The SwordKnight now stood at his side, taking the brunt of electrical attacks while holding onto the Clawknight enough to keep Vance from a rather abrupt fall to his death. Reacting quickly, Vance spurred his gear forward, out of immediate danger of the fall and as soon as Stratski let go, joined him in tearing through the numbers to get the hell out.

It took effort from the entire team to make it back to the tunnel system. Stratski propelled Vance forward, and Helmholz and Renk fired over the ShieldKnight's massive shoulders as Broyer brought up the rear and blocked the Medusoids from causing any further damage to his comrades. The oversized jellyfish followed them almost to the exit, finally backing off as the light from outside illuminated the cavernous walls.

Once outside, finally, no one stopped until they'd reached a higher plateau, out under the noonday sun. No Medusoid would try to follow them out here, for they were far too sensitive to the sunlight. Finally, they felt safe enough to pause and assess the damages done.

"Everyone, report," Renk's voice held a note of concern.

"Took moderate damage, everything is functional, however," Helmholz replied first.

"I'm fine," came Broyer's response.

"Stratski? Vance?"

Vance sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the readouts and LEDs and signals were no longer screaming at him, but he could tell that he'd taken significant damage nearly everywhere. "I'm amazed I'm still standing. ClawKnight's gonna need repairs."

Silence for a moment, and Vance knew what was coming next. He braced himself for it.

"We'll talk about this when we get back, Vance. Stratski, report please."

"Repairs will be necessary. I am fine otherwise," the SwordKnight pilot finally spoke up. No edge to his voice. Nothing to indicate distress or anything else. Vance growled under his breath, Drive still making him edgy even in the aftermath of combat adrenaline. How did the preening peacock manage to remain that damned calm? It had to be the Hollow. Renk kept talking about it, he'd heard it mentioned but no one ever explained it to him and the one time he asked Stratski about it, he just looked at him oddly and refused to answer. Was it some kind of new drug?

_"No, little -Lamb-, it's not. Don't ask me again." _

And then he walked away, leaving Vance there to clench his fists and wish he could deck Stratski right then and there.

"I'm getting too old for this shit," Renk's voice groaned and cut into Vance's thoughts. "All right, so long as everyone can make the trip, let's get back home and report. Helmholz, you got the statistics?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, move out."

(To be continued...)


	2. Numb

Drive wouldn't actually begin to wear off until well after everyone had returned to Solaris. Vance felt muscles ache and his body protest painfully as he lifted himself out of the cockpit of the ClawKnight. He had bruises where the impacts hadn't been very kind to him, rattling his cockpit like a cage. Though he'd been through enough simulated combat while in training, they never bothered to warn the pilots about real time combat being such a bitch. A good hot shower and a long nap sounded exceptionally appealing, especially once he realized the effects of Drive would soon be wearing off. When high, he never felt a thing, not even realizing the electric shocks from the Medusoids were also harming him and not just the exterior of his gear. It left him profoundly weary and even a little depressed. Drive maintained a level of aggression in those who used it, and the aftermath easily dropped the user into melancholy. Especially the addicted.

Out on the platform, he saw the damage done to the ClawKnight. Techs had already assembled to assess necessary repairs and someone whistled. Vance gaped at the charred exterior that had originally been a bright white. Though the displays and warning bells told him the damage was extensive, it didn't truly hit home until he stood there, outside, to see it personally. With the Drive steadily leaving his system, it left him shaking and nearly ready to sink to his knees. Instead, he turned away from the sight, running a hand through redgold hair as he exhaled softly. "Damn."

The others emerged from their gears and gathered to talk. Renk had to see everyone and delegate who was to visit medbay, if necessary. Vance approached, but like a dog that knew he'd done wrong and the master was going to flip, he hung back until Renk looked up and saw him hesitating there.

"Get over here, Vance, stop standing there like a guilty looking mook."

Even as he drifted slowly closer to the group, he glanced over the others to gauge their expressions. Stratski merely stared at him with that same, aggravating, blasé stare. Helmholz glared for a moment, then reached up to adjust his glasses, pulling them off to clean them briefly as a distraction. Broyer wasn't even looking at him, arms folded over his broad chest while he stared off in another direction. Everyone seemed all right, though Vance knew he was doing his best not to let on how sore he felt. For all he knew, the others were trying not to display weakness either.

"You ok?" Renk asked, the only one of the group to approach Vance as he drew in closer. A hand reached out to rest against the rookie's shoulder, followed by a stern look as Vance nodded his head, affirmative. "Listen, kid, I know you think you gotta prove yourself to us but pulling a stunt like that isn't gonna do anything other than convince me you're a wildcard that needs to be watched like a hawk."

"Yeah, not to mention you'll get us all fucking killed," Helmholz added, holding up his glasses to make sure the lenses were perfectly spotless before putting them back on and adjusting them primly. Renk shot his partner a look briefly before patting Vance's shoulder once and turning back toward the others. Just in time, too, missing the way that Vance winced. His shoulder was bruised, too.

"All right, if everyone's ok, go get showers and some rest. Helmholz, you come with me. We gotta report."

Vance hesitated again, standing there as the others drifted off. Helmholz and Renk toward the officer's station to the left and Stratski and Broyer to the right, toward the barracks where the specialist teams had their quarters. Suddenly, he wanted to find somewhere private to be, but all he really had was the small, rectangular area assigned to him as living space. Solaris wasn't notorious for privacy, especially for those who were nothing but third class scum snatched into the army to be molded into something _useful_. Or at least that was how the recruiter put it when they began ether testing that fateful day so many years ago. Vance never dreamed he'd test positive. Never thought for a second that he'd be dropped into Jugend. _He has a minor, possibly moderate grasp of ether_, the report on him said when he was sent away. It turned out to be exceptionally minor, an ability to affect the emotions of others around him. Only Drive really enhanced this enough to be noticeable. Vance never realized how he bent others to his moods, nor did he have any control over it. Not even after years of training in Jugend. They concentrated on his gear piloting instead and it got him here.

Returning to the barracks, he realized Stratski and Broyer had already disappeared to the showers down the hall. Vance paused at the door to his room. Drive had nearly worn off completely by that point, leaving him in a hazy, sleepy melancholy. His fingers already shook uncontrollably. He wouldn't even be able to stand up for very much longer. So, instead of face the others, he pressed his palm to the reader at his door and disappeared into his room, collapsing on the military issue wallbed to fall into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke, several hours later, his chest heaved for air. Phlegm at the back of his throat made it difficult to breathe and his eyes were so crusted with sleep that he had to rub them to pull the crud off so he could see properly. The clock on the wall told him he'd only bee asleep for four hours. But it was enough to take the edge off the withdrawal symptoms, Drive having left his system completely now. It left him numb and dry, wanting to find another hit and feel sweet heaven in his veins, making the pain of the world disappear in one blissful moment.

But he'd used his last shot of Drive in the ClawKnight. And besides that, if anyone caught him using it outside of combat he'd be in the brig lickity split and if they diagnosed him with addiction, they'd send him to the Solarian version of rehab. And rehab was never pretty. He'd known of guys who never returned. Best not to get caught. Rolling over, his groaned aloud at the soreness to his muscles. He ached in places he'd never felt pain in before. Stiffly he rose from the bed. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since a few hours before the mission. But before he thought about putting anything into his belly, he wanted a shower first. He still smelled like engine smoke and ripe sweat that'd been allowed to seep into his uniform and dry.

Grabbing a change of uniform, he left his room on shaky limbs, taking his time to get to the shower room. Thankfully it was empty, rows of lockers gleaming a sterile white under the track lights that lined the ceiling. He sank onto a bench and began peeling off his clothing, leaving his clean uniform in one of the lockers to be reclaimed after a long time spent under a hot shower nozzle. The heat was exactly what he needed, turning the nozzles on to get a good steam going in the little shower cubie. The rest of the stalls were empty, a profound silence broken only by the sound of running water. He relaxed slowly, feeling the aches and tension begin to melt as he lounged against the wall, letting it all wash over him, peeling off the sweat and grime and plastering red gold hair against cheeks and forehead. Provided he was left here uninterrupted, he intended to sit there for awhile and unwind.

But such was not meant to be. Blue eyes popped open suddenly as an arm abjectly shoved him backwards and pinned him to the tiled wall with enough force to take his breath away. To his surprise, Helmholz stood there in front of him, fully dressed and getting wet as the water continued to stream over them both now. Water spots already sparkled on his glasses, splattered against the scowl crossing his expression.

"The fuck! 's your problem Helm!"

"You are, you little shit. Strats is in the infirmary and it's your fault," he spat back. The entire time Vance had known Helmholz thus far, he'd never seen him angry. The second WandKnight never rarely wavered with his patience, though he hardly held back his distain either. The arm pressing Vance against the wall increased its pressure, making it difficult to breathe.

"You're getting wet," he observed, hoping to throw the other off. It worked, Helmholz gave him a final shove and backed off, shaking his arms before grabbing at his glasses to clean them. Only he had nothing dry with which to do so, leaving him squinting. Vance rubbed at his chest, the ache there in the wake of his teammate's aggression. "Shit... Stratski looked fine when we got back, what the hell happened? I didn't mean--"

"Yeah, you didn't mean it, sure," Helmholz angrily retorted, finally locating a towel to brusquely wipe the water spots off his spectacles. "You just totally disobeyed orders to get your own glory in. Well guess what, Vance. You just proved to us all that you're a moron. Strats let go of the Hollow and down he went. He's bleeding internally from the shocks he took getting your ass out of trouble."

Vance winced, reaching numbly for the shower dials to flick the water off. He suddenly didn't feel that clean, no matter how much he might have scrubbed off. "I'm sorry," he said quietly in the silence that followed.

"Yeah, you're sorry all right you peice of s---" Helmholz cut off as he put his glasses back on and got a good look at the rookie's pained expression. "God, you really are." The revelation stunned him. Helmholz never expected for the hot shot to actually admit to wrongdoing. After a pause, the pair staring at one another in comtemplative silence, Helmholz tossed the towel toward Vance. "Oh get cleaned up. We meet for dinner in the mess hall in an hour, be there."

Vance caught the towel, using it to wrap around his waist as it began to dawn on him that he was standing there perfectly naked in front of Helmholz. "Thanks..."

"It's nothing, we all make mistakes, kidd-- Vance," the WandKnight pilot shrugged it off, "Just... go see Strats and apologize to him or something. Ok? We're a team... we gotta stick together."

"Right, a team..." Vance trailed off as he watched Helmholz depart the shower room, bootheels clicking off across the tiles of the locker room before he disappeared to the corridors beyond. He sighed, rubbing at his face. Apologize to Stratski? Oh that'd be the day. "Preening peacock will probably bite my head off..."

But he knew it had to be done. Helmholz was right, they were a team.

(To be continued...)


	3. Dirty Little Secrets

(I almost feel silly writing this, dear readers. Unlike most of my fiction, this was an experiment and a joy to write. But it's like choosing a pair of really racy, lacy underwear. It feels great while hidden but also awkward in showing it off. But, evidently I'm not too ashamed of it, since I'm sharing it here.)

**Dirty Little Secrets**

Apologizing to Stratski had not been easy. Vance waited until later in the evening, after eating dinner with the rest of the team. Renk didn't give him a hard time about his hot shot stunts. Broyer even seemed a bit more relaxed around him and Helmholz warmed up enough to hold a normal conversation with him. Vance almost felt welcome among them. It was just the inevitable talk with Stratski that kept him hovering on the edge of the group. No one brought up the SwordKnight pilot's injuries, but Vance couldn't forget them either. He procrastinated as long as possible, getting into in depth conversations with Helmholz over the minute details of jinki, a solarian card game of strategy and luck. Vance insisted more on luck and Helmholz more on strategy.

It wasn't until after Helmholz challenged him to a game at another time and then got up to leave that Vance decided to quit dawdling and get the whole thing over with. He took his time through the corridors, distracting himself with thoughts of whipping Helmholz' ass the next day at jinki. But it didn't work for long, especially in that last mile stretch (which was only a few feet) that brought him into the infirmary. The sterile scent of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant nearly made him sneeze. But he held a hand over his nose and avoided the reflex. The nurse behind the counter gestured down the hall and to the left. Room 213. Then she reminded him that visitation would be ending in half an hour. Not that Vance minded, if nothing else it gave him the perfect excuse to escape.

Though part of him hoped that Stratski might be asleep, to Vance's chagrin the SwordKnight pilot was wide awake and looking both bored and restless as he entered the small alcove room. Sea green eyes widened a bit, head tilting to the side as Stratski realized just who was paying him a visit.

"You're the last person I expected to see today," he quipped in a wry manner that set Vance's nerves on edge immediately.

"Yeah well, Helm told me what happened, so I, um..."

"You came to apologize."

"Yeah."

Silence for a moment as the two stared at one another. Stratski shifted, light teal colored hair sliding off the pillow to land against his shoulder as he turned his gaze from the rookie to the white walls. Though Vance dubbed him a 'peacock' upon first meeting him, even he had to admit the man was gorgeous. It bristled him, since Vance had his own pride and vanity in his appearance. Stratski had the most powerful gear, too, which was made apparent to him through first hand experience against the Medusoids. For a third class bum, he sure did take on all the trappings of the elite, the Abel. The envy only made the apology that much more humiliating.

He must have worn his feelings on his expression, for as Stratski looked back at him, those pale brows furrowed together. "You know, Vance, don't bother competing with me. And don't come in here apologizing for things you really aren't sorry about. I'll be out of here tomorrow anyway, so you can assauge your guilt with that. I'll be back to show you up again then."

Vance blinked at the ferocity behind the words. Stratski always seemed so blase about everything, jaded and bored, to hear him sound angry confused Vance. And then it got his dander up, too. Sneering at him, he tossed his head to chase unruly red bangs away from his eyes. "Fine, you damned peacock. See if I care what happens to you after this. We're a team, Renk and Helmholz say, well I guess I'm not a team player."

And with that he stormed out of the room, so angry he nearly punched the wall. Instead, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, storming out of the infirmary as if a trail of dark clouds hovered above his head and threatened to rain down on him at any second. He considered going to Helmholz and explaining, but likely it'd result in Helm taking Stratski's side. They got along, after all. Why should he take the side of some hotshot rookie kid with an attitude?

By the time he reached his room again, his anger had faded into another bout of melancholy. If Stratski wasn't willing to forgive him, what was the point in remaining in the team? There would always be that damned rivalry going on between them.

The next month proved to be both awkward and confrontational. Renk, Broyer and Helmholz noticed the tension that pervaded the team whenever Vance and Stratski had to be anywhere near one another. Stratski wasn't out of the infirmary when he said, originally, but within a week's time they allowed him back out with orders to take it easy for another two weeks, grounding the Knight Team for the time being. Vance made noises about not _needing_ him, but Renk steadfastly but gently set the redheaded firebrand straight each time.

If it weren't for Helmholz, things surely would have escalated further and faster. To Vance's surprise, he remained friendly with him despite the obvious animosity he had for Stratski. Quickly enough, Vance found new competition in taking up Helmholz' time, stealing moments away from his rival. He gloated whenever possible, thumbed his nose at the Sword Knight pilot as things went his way and remained a thorn in his competition's side. Much to his chagrin, however, every step ahead ended up being shoved back as Stratski played the game just as well. He met gloat for gloat, often mocked Vance whenever possible (and did so openly while Vance had the disadvantage of having to be more subtle) and Helmholz seemed too eager to hang out with him just as often as he did the rookie.

It ended up frustrating Vance to the point that he began avoiding all of them.

Renk noticed it first, or at least was the first to attempt resolving things. He waited till one evening after dinner and cornered Vance in the hallway as he returned to his quarters.

"You've been elusive as of late. Got a moment to talk?"

Vance frowned, running a hand through redgold hair before shoving both hands into his pockets and sighing, "Sure. What'd I do this time?"

"Nothing, don't worry, this isn't a discipline call. Come on," Renk replied, gesturing for Vance to follow him back to his room, down at the end of the hall. Vance hung his head, keeping his hands jammed into his pockets as he kicked at an invisible pebble on an otherwise pristine white floor. If Renk wanted to talk to him, it most likely had to do with Stratski and would probably result in a lecture. He had no reason to think otherwise. Thus far Renk proved to be primarily on the peacock's side so far. He tried to be fair, but his bias was all too obvious.

"Sit, relax. I'm not going to snap at you. I'm not going to lecture either," Renk said as Vance followed him into the tiny living space. With a shrug of his shoulders, he sat on the edge of the wallcot, purposefully avoiding any eye contact. Renk scratched at his beard, sinking into the seat by his desk and sighing heavily. "Look... I have a feeling I know what's bugging you but I'd prefer you to tell me in your own words, your own feelings. Spill it, kid. This has gone on long enough."

"Why should I? You'll just take his side, I'm not stupid, Renk," he snapped, looking up finally with a sulky glare. Renk frowned for a moment, but shook his head, letting Vance go on after that without interrupting. "Fine, you want to know what's wrong? It's that preening peacock of yours. Stratski, the oh so special. He insults me and you guys don't bat an eyelash, I insult him and you tell me to shut up. He's prettier, faster, far more combat able, has a more powerful gear and he hates my guts. He's hated me since the first day we looked at each other and you guys let him go on hating me."

"I see," Renk replied after mulling the tirade over in his head. "Well... all right. I guess I never paid attention to it but... did you ever think maybe Stratski feels the same way?"

Vance eyed Renk warily after that. "Excuse me? He's a first class Abel, why the hell would he feel that way about me? After all, I'm just a -Lamb- in his eyes."

Renk chuckled softly and shook his head again, "Vance, Stratski is just as much third class as you and I are. He's got a fifteen year service agreement with the military, just like you do. Just like I do, too, as well as Broyer and Helmholz. We're _all_ third class in this team."

Vance's expression changed from sulky to skeptical. It never occured to him that Stratski was not all he appeared to be. That light hue to his hair, the paleness of his skin. Everything _seemed_ to point to him being of the Abel, especially how he loathed the -Lambs-. But, unlike Renk, Vance had no access to personnel files or records. All he had to go on was his gut feeling and Stratski's cues, since any attempt to ask the peacock about himself was met with a stony silence and a blatant refusal to answer.

"So... you mean... have you actually talked to him? Does he really feel that way about me?" he asked hesitantly.

Renk nodded, "Yeah. Strats is upset because he thinks you're out to take his place. You're upset because you think he's shadowing you. And since you two are so busy trying to one up each other, that neither of you are even attempting to get along. I had this talk with him already, see--"

A knock at the door interrupted him then. "Scuse, just a sec." Renk stood from the desk, opening the door to speak briefly with another Gebler soldier that Vance didn't recognize. He could only overhear snippets of the conversation. Something about a problem with Helmholz' gear.

"I'll be right back, kid. We'll finish this then, all right? Stay put."

And then he was gone, the door hissing shut behind him, leaving Vance to sit there in Renk's room and be completely bored in the meanwhile. The rookie leaned back on his palms, glancing around the standard box-like area that served as a home for their Fearless Leader. Everyone attempted something to make the sterile walls more personable. Renk choose to decorate with pictures, faces that resembled his jovial mug, family perhaps. Vance found a few minutes of fascination in staring at them and wondering who these people were to his team captain, but the novelty wore thin all too quickly and soon had blue eyes scanning the room for something new.

Until he looked toward the desk and realized Renk left his terminal on. Suddenly devious, Vance glanced toward the door, ears keenly listening for the sound of any footsteps. Only when the corridors beyond remained quiet did he slide off his perch on Renk's bed to tiptoe over to the desk and steal a glance at the monitor. Sure enough, everything sat right there for Vance's perusal, personnel records already brought to the forefront, as well as personal journal notes. He snorted to see Renk's latest entry about himself.

_Vance is a good kid, he means well, but this war with Stratski has to end, somehow. If they can't get along at all, I don't want to take them into combat together. Too dangerous._

Touching the screen, he flicked backwards to look at Stratski's file. Blue eyes widened at what he read there in the quiet of his captain's room. He only moved to scroll backwards, further and further up. A grin crossed his features, predatory and malicious. A certain teal haired peacock was about to have his ass handed to him on a silver platter.

By the time Renk returned, he found Vance had left. A note remained in his wake, something letting the other know that Vance had to attend to something and he'd think about what Renk said. Renk sighed as he read it, finding nothing malicious about it. Though he'd forgone any thoughts of marriage or normal living to continue his career in the military, he realized he would never miss out on the joys of fatherhood. Not when he had so many children joining his team.

(To be continued...)


	4. Grudgematch

(Author's Voice: This story will shortly be changing to an NC-17 rating, just to forewarn everyone.)

**Grudgematch**

To Vance's impatient chagrin, the new knowledge gleaned from Renk's terminal had to sit and wait before he could reveal it. In the days that passed, the peacock actually made some vague attempts at being friendly. He even approached the firehaired youth one morning and apologized.

_"I'm sorry," he said quietly, sitting beside Vance at the table though he had no tray and had actually already eaten. Clearly he had more than that to say, and so Vance remained quiet, letting the silence stretch out uncomfortably between them. "Renk spoke with me about what's been going on between us. I'll... put effort into being less of a dick from now on. We're a team."_

Then he got up, leaving Vance alone to mull that one over. The smallest prick of guilt hovered over him, enough to keep him from chomping at the bit to find a way to reveal his knowledge and grind Stratski under his heel. Suddenly it didn't quite seem so important, that dirty secret. Their missions afterward proved further that slowly they all were accepting him into their ranks. Renk allowed the ClawKnight to soar ahead, alongside Stratski's SwordKnight. A month passed before he could blink, then another. The skeleton remained in the closet, even if Vance never quite forgot how to open the door.

He even dared to consider them all his friends, not only Helmholz, but all of them.

Renk became a father figure, as he was for nearly all the team members. Broyer grudgingly spoke to him, though eventually Vance figured out how to draw him out of his shell and converse with him normally. The stone faced ShieldKnight pilot had originally been from the surface, and liked sometimes to talk about his old hometown. Vance listened in rapt fascination, for he had never set foot on the surface, not his feet at least. Helmholz had always been friendly, and the two often played jinki together. Sometimes Stratski joined in, and that was how Vance began to see beyond the cool, arrogant exterior the SwordKnight pilot usually exuded. They laughed, slugged one another playfully and even got into shoving and wrestling matches like kids several years their junior.

But like anything in Vance's life, happiness couldn't last either. He lost his mother when he was only six. Lost his father soon afterwards. Lost his innocence as he scraped by among the third class in the hives and lost his dignity as he was given two choices, join the military or end up a test subject in the labs. Then he lost his self control as they let him experiment with 'Drive'. Vance didn't have much to begin with, so finding a strange sort of family among his team gave him a spark of hope in an otherwise dismal life, the only one he could really have in the restrictive, strict caste society he was born into. This was the best he could hope for.

And it all shattered one morning as he drifted toward Helmholz' room. All three of them had made games out of barging into one another's domiciles, sometimes to dump something unpleasant on whoever had the audacity to try sleeping in. And at breakfast that fateful morning, Vance sat with Broyer and Renk, but not Helmholz or Stratski. When he asked, the pair shrugged, having not seen either of them since the night previous. So, rubbing his hands together defiantly, Vance grabbed the first thing he could find to be annoying with, which happened to be his tube of toothpaste, from his room and proceeded to sneak over to Helmholz'. There was a temptation to get Stratski first, but even after all this time the two of them had a tendency to step lightly around each other.

The door slide open with a hiss of escaping air and Vance froze in place as the scene unfolded in front of him. The chair to Helmholz' desk had been slide to the center of the boxed-room space, Stratski slouched down into it, long legs sprawling outwards, one knee bent to give him leverage. Helmholz straddled his lap, a hand wrapped around the back of his neck, holding onto light teal locks tightly to keep his head drawn back. They were kissing, and it wasn't some display of brotherly affection, far more of a rough moment of passion that the redheaded ClawKnight pilot unknowingly intruded on.

Stunned, Vance could only force himself to stand there as the door hissed shut again, but not before they realized he was there, looking up and blinking repeatedly.

"Shit," he heard Helmholz curse as the door separated them. Rather than wait for them to get up and try to find him, Vance simply cut out and raced down the corridor, running so hard he could heart his heart thumping in his eardrums and his breath came in ragged gasps. He had no thought for where he went, stumbling down corridors blindly. Eventually he found himself at the Gebler Gear hangar. The vast space had to be crossed walking, for he hadn't the strength any longer to force his legs to run further. Numb and embarrassed, he collapsed in front of the ClawKnight and sighed for breath.

Would they think to look for him here? He hoped not. Solaris had a limited number of hiding places and enough cameras and detection devices to make it nigh impossible for someone to remain unnoticed for long. Instead of remain on ground level, he climbed up the series of stairs to get to the cockpit of the ClawKnight, clamoring inside and settling into the leather seat so familiar to him now. Adjusted and molded to his slender frame, he felt safe and cradled like an infant inside the ClawKnights metal womb. Fingers splayed over arm rest as he turned onto his side, numb and weary after the hurried jaunt through sterile corridors.

That's when he spied the little feather dangling off a bit of leather cord. Half lidded eyes regarded it lazily for a moment before he touched it, feeling the puffed edges give way to stronger spines beneath. Helmholz gave it to him nearly a month ago, a good luck charm from the surface. From the first time he'd ever set foot on the world down below. Vance treasured the gift, and the meaning of acceptance behind it. He left it hanging off a jutted edge within the interior of the cockpit to look at it occasionally before they engaged anything in battle. Now it served as a sharp, painful reminder of the scene he witnessed in Helmholz' room. His fist closed tightly over the helpless little feather, crushing it between fingers and palm.

Why did he care so much? What business of his was it if Helmholz and Stratski were banging each other? Same sex pairings weren't uncommon at all in Solaris, encouraged even to prevent unauthorized breeding outside the government sanctioned marriages. Perhaps it was merely the shock of seeing them tangled like that, mouths locked together and tongues desperately searching. He squeezed his eyes shut to shove the image from his mind's eye, to concentrate on anything but the warmth he felt in his groin when he pictured the two of them entwined, moaning and sighing in sexual bliss.

But his eyes jerked open as he realized what he felt. They shared something Vance had never felt before other than in the presence of his teammates. They had each other. In the darkness of the Solarian Third Class, it was something as opposed to nothing. His palm opened slowly, regarding the now broken feather thoughtfully before turning his hand over and letting it drift casually toward the ground, arching back and forth as its weight couldn't let it just drop.

He still had nothing.

He couldn't remain there forever. Eventually he'd wander out of the ClawKnight or someone would finally find him hiding in his gear. Vance knew this inwardly. Curled up in the seat, the cool glint of silver and mirroresque, offline LED panels spoke to him, promised safety for now, a chance to get his head together and deal with the embarrassment and the ache of loneliness. He should be used to this by now, he berated himself for running of as he had. All he had to do was razz them about it and jokingly tell them to lock the door next time. He didn't have to run, to turn this into some kind of angst driven drama fest.

But in that little space, he could still feel his heart beating a little faster than it should have. Resting his head sideways on the leather chair produced a hollow throb that beat like a drum until he faced forward again. He sighed, closing his eyes as if to nap though he wasn't all that tired. It was still morning, wasn't it? He'd lost track of time, though it couldn't have been more than a half an hour at the most. Sitting up, he looked at the little cradle where normally a shot of Drive was stored.

It wasn't empty.

He blinked, stared a moment and rubbed at his eyes. Someone had replaced it, finally, for the next time they went out on a mission and had need of the combat enhancing drug. And there it sat, the needle calling his name. Without thought or regret, he grabbed it, pulling off the plastic top and fitting the slender needle into his arm. Within moments everything went numb. All the pain, extinguished flames left to mere embers that smoldered in the wake of cooling Drive and then ignited yet again. A bonfire of the lust for violence and rage, to expunge and purge the anguish rather than leave it sit to fester and grow gangrenous.

Footfalls outside the ClawKnight's cockpit brought him out of his reveries, the moved steadily forward with a definite purpose before halting, the scrape of boots and the rustle of fabric, he could mentally picture a hand reaching to pull open the hatch. He sat up straight, reaching up to grab the hatch hold before anyone could get it open, fingers grasping on air instead. Light streamed into the cool, dark interior of the gear and Vance squinted, lifting a hand to shield his eyes while they grew accustomed to the change.

"There you are," Stratski's voice sighed. "You had us all searching the entire military sector for you Corporal Vance."

"Everyone? Or just you and Helmholz?" he spat back, grasping the hold bars to lift himself out the hatch so quickly that Stratski had to take a sudden step backwards to avoid an unnecessary cracking of heads.

"All of us..." he admitted quietly, though sea green eyes averted, unable to look at Vance directly. "I, I'm sorry you saw that but--"

"You're sorry?" Vance snarled. He turned away from the taller Solarian, gripping the siderail of of the gear dock to keep himself steady. Looking down he realized his knuckles turned white. Emotion welled up inside of him, grasping that wee bit of ether inside of himself to project that anger onto Stratski as he whirled around to face him again. "You're _sorry_? Does he even know what you are, _Corporal_ Sebastian Stratski?"

Taken aback, Stratski's face became a mask of arrogant indifference and indignation. "What the hell are you talking about? Look, Vance I don't know what you and Helmholz--"

"Stow it, peacock," Vance cut in again, "There's nothing between me and Helm, you can be reassured that I'm not trying to steal your little fucktoy away from you."

He let go of the railing completely, a predatory grin crossing his lips and lighting his eyes dangerously as he approached Stratski like a hunting cat sniffing out his prey. Though taller and far stronger than Vance, Stratski couldn't help the single, involuntary planting of one foot backward. His fists clenched and unclenched, indignant that Helmholz had been referred to as a _fucktoy_. Vance could see it, right past the veneer of stoic arrogance. He could smell it like a dog always smelled fear. Stratski was right where he wanted him and as soon as he had drawn in close enough he grabbed the lapel of his uniform, dragging him down to his level then to kiss him rather solidly. Stratski stood stock still, shocked at first, then quickly braced his hands against Vance's shoulders to end the embrace.

In the silent aftermath, Vance's cruel laughter rang mockingly down the vast empty space of the hangar. "See, I don't want Helmholz at all. I want you, Stratski... Or should I call you Sebastien _Von_ Stratski, son of an Abel... and a 3rd class whore."

Sea green eyes went wide with shock. "You bastard..." All attempts to remain calm and cool and collected as always melted like ice cream left on a hot stove burner.

"No, no, no, see, my parents were married... well, insofar as 3rd class can marry but yours? No, I'd say you're the bastard here, Stratski," Vance continued, finding he delighted in having the peacock painted away in the corner. The Drive in his system granted more than enough impetus for his cruelty, and little thought for the consequences of his actions.

"You're mad, I am not playing this game with you. The fuck's come over-- you're high," Stratski suddenly realized, connecting the dots to see the larger picture. He groaned, rubbing at the bridge of his nose before brushing aside teal colored hair. "God, Vance, what the hell are you thinking using that shit outside combat?"

Vance didn't like the tone to his voice, as if he dismissed his threats as nothing more than a drug induced drama. Blue eyes narrowed balefully and when he reached for Stratski's lapel again, it wasn't to kiss him, but to literally throw him down to the ground. Drive didn't grant more strength, but merely the ability to call on reserves normally not touched. Combined with the SwordKnight pilot's surprise, he sent the taller Solarian sprawling to the grated metal floor and leapt on him to straddle him there, pinning him down.

"Listen, Stratski, I will say this only once. I don't want Helm, I want you. I know what you are, you half-breed lab rat. And if you're a smart boy, you'll give me what I want or else suffer the consequences of everyone knowing."

"Get the fuck off me!" came the indignant response, Stratski writhing in a manner that endangered him unknowingly. Vance liked the way he moved, wondered what it would be like to take him right there in the middle of the hangar. But he got up instead, brushing off the dust from the grated floor. Stratski didn't make an effort to follow right away, too stunned by the demand placed on him. He propped himself up on one elbow, then slowly rolled over to get to his feet.

"You have three days," Vance warned with a vicious grin. Tossing his head to chase away unruly strands of red-gold hair, he winked at the other before turning to walk off, boots clanking against the floor.


	5. Falling

**Falling**

Vance was lucky Stratski had been unarmed when he and the rest of the striketeam set out to find their wayward redhead. He dressed quickly, he and Helmholz fumbling to get their uniforms back on before slipping out the door while still buttoning up their shirts. Neither meant for Vance to see their display of affection, nor even to know about it. And in turn, neither expected him to react that way either. Through all the worry and turmoil, Stratski never thought to collect his swordwhips from Helm's room.

But as he watched the smug redhead walk away casually, the threat left looming like a punctuated clap of thunder, Stratski had the urge to crack the sword whip's deadly talons and rip the youth's torso in half. Yet all he could do was stand there helplessly, fists clenched and teeth grinding. Ineffectual, beaten.

Doomed.

He wondered, briefly, how Vance found out about his years in the lab. Never had he revealed this to anyone, not even his fellow teammates. Those were painful memories filled with the glitter of needles, monotone observations, and the cold, sterile countenances of researchers who saw him as a specimen and not a human being. It took years for people to coax him out of his shell once they dropped him into Jugend. Years before he felt comfortable enough to lower his guard, stop embracing the void that he called the Hollow. It was the Hollow that saved him from insanity, though. Anyone found to have ether capabilities was tossed into Jugend, for such things were rare and Solaris learned long ago to utilize ether resources to further the might of the military. Stratski showed a predisposition toward earth ether, and used it in a unique manner someone called the Hollow, for it make his voice reverberate in an echoish manner. It numbed his pain, made it so he couldn't feel anything, not heat nor cold, pain nor pleasure. He held it as long as he could during his lab days and then passed out when his ether ran flat.

Like a drug, the Hollow called to him, but too much of it numbed him beyond the physical, leaving him outwardly cold, cool, composed and without passion or excitement or any kind of extreme emotion, not even anger. Helmholz had been the one to coax him out of it, to make him stop using the Hollow so much in his daily life, to reserve it for when he needed it most. Helmholz also gave him a damned good reason for wanting to feel such ordinary things as pain and pleasure, many a night spent secretly bedding with one another. But he couldn't even tell his lover, the one person who opened him up to a world without purposefully inflicted pain, who he really was.

That he was third class wasn't a stigma. Over half the Solarian military was comprised of the third class. Mostly the grunts and soldiers, the little guys who rushed into battle and died by the handful in the name of a country that distained them. Being a half-breed... well, it wasn't the best of both worlds. Among the elite Abel, he was unacknowledged. A mistake. The bastard of a man who had too much to drink one night and got a little too friendly with his housekeeper. To the third class, he was a painted crow. The light color to his hair, the pastel hue of his eyes and the pale tone of his skin marked him as if he'd been born with a target on his back. Even before his lab days, he remembered the taunts tossed at him by others his own age. They never accepted him, either. Prejudice ran rampant on both sides, and a half breed had no place anywhere in Solaris. Stratski had worked hard to obscure the truth to those he worked with, to leave them without the knowledge of his origins, or his days in the labs.

And now Vance threatened the very foundations he'd worked so hard to lay down.

Vance stumbled back to his domicile, leaning against the wall to help keep himself on his feet. The Drive in his system coursed through his veins so sweetly, singing of violence and destruction. Without the Gear, without any bloodshed to be had, he took out his aggressions in other ways, leaving behind mars on the walls as he passed, gouged in by the zipper link at the edge of his uniform jacket. He grinned while he did this, proud of the straggled line that marked his passage down the pristine corridors.

When he reached his room, he slipped inside, flopping down on the bed to wait. Just to wait, but wait for what? He gave Stratski three days. Three days before deciding if he wanted his dirty little secret spread throughout the military compound. They'd all look at him with distain, the third class would hate him for his Abel blood and the Abel would mock him for being a half-breed. Fitting for the peacock, to put him in his place like that. In his agitated state of mind, Vance even entertained the thought of telling everyone even if Stratski came to him. To utterly humiliate him and grind him under heel finally.

A fleetingly sweet but cruel mistress, Drive never lasted. She fled when the adrenaline began to fade and now that Vance had confronted his rival and had the words and demands out, he felt the beginning drain. Good thing he'd come straight to his room, now he could crash onto his bed and let the withdrawal begin, shivering and shaking while coming off that heavenly high.

So as the door buzzed at him, he whirled around, startled. "Who's there?" he demanded. His heart leapt into his throat, lodged there until Vance forced himself to swallow the lump back down again.

"Stratski," came the reply through the intercom.

Vance blinked. He never expected the peacock to make his decision so quickly. Standing there for a moment, he licked his lips and found them dry, cracked and sore. The void hovered so near, threatening to leave him spiraling down into the madness of withdrawal. Suddenly Vance realized he didn't want to be alone in this, even if it meant letting the peacock in to see him shaking.

The door slid open with a hiss of air escaping hydraulics. Stratski stood there for a moment, eyes half lidded, expression stony as he regarded his teammate. Vance narrowed his eyes momentarily and then reached out to grab the SwordKnight Pilot by the collar of his jacket and pull him into the room so the door would shut again. He released him afterwards, just as Stratski jerked back. The effect left him to back up into the door a little harder than he meant to, remaining there as the pair stared at one another balefully.

"Why are you doing this to me, Vance? Why the hell do you hate me so much?"

Vance felt the urge to suddenly strike out and promptly did so. Clenching a fist, he aimed for Stratski's jaw and to his surprised delight, managed to strike him. The peacock's head jerked to the side and he nearly faltered, catching himself at the last moment. Using the doorframe as leverage, he felt along his jawline as he glared at Vance over his hand.

"Shut up. You've treated me like shit ever since I joined the group, don't start playing innocent with me now you lab reject. If you're here, then you made your decision so deal with it."

Stratski parted his lips to snarl something back when Vance reached out again and grabbed him by the arm, whipping his taller frame around to shove him toward the bed. This time Stratski had grown tired of letting the ClawKnight pilot jerk him around and shoved back, sending Vance back against the wall near his desk. "Fuck you, you wanted to replace me, hotshot. You're not some goddamned innocent victim in all this!"

"You really do want me telling everyone what sort of trash you are, don't you?" Vance spat. Pushing away from the wall, he threw his entire weight into Stratski, sending them both sprawling backwards over the bunk. The space was too small, however, and the SwordKnight pilot ended up smacking his head off the metal wall. Dazed, he blinked repeatedly at Vance, the blood draining from his face to see that cruel, drug induced grin splitting his teammate's features. "Yeah... that's right, you know where this goes now, don't you. I get to fuck your brains out and you get to deal with it, cause if you tell anyone, your life goes to shit real fast."

His fingers fumbled with the zipper to Stratski's uniform jacket, ignoring the other's protests, breathy pleas at the last moment to please not do this. Stratski didn't try to stop him, though. This was why he came, after all, to get this whole confrontation over and done with, provided he couldn't somehow talk reason into Vance's head. The drug had too much of a grip, even as close as it was to fading, making Vance both aggressive and impatient. He tore at the fabric when it refused to obey his shaking hands, hearing the seams tear, straining and then finally giving in to his dominance. He would have continued, giving into the animalistic rage of Drive.

If not for the sudden searing bolt of pain rocketing through his head. Drive finally ran dry in his bloodstream and the void swallowed him whole. He cried out, collapsing atop Stratski as his hands reached up for his head, cradling himself there and wanting to curl into a little ball. He felt the warmth of hands moving him. Of course... Stratski had a chance to escape now, run from the room and leave Vance there in his agony. He always came off Drive by himself, alone to mewl and claw at the walls while his head pounded against his temples. Everyone went through it, but not alone usually.

To his astonishment, he found himself cradled against Stratski's chest. Felt the warm of his flesh against a cheek with the uniform jacket torn wide open. He barely had time to think about it, consider the situation before he blacked out entirely, darkness blessedly and mercifully granting him succor from the pain of Drive withdrawal.

(Whee. Sorry. Forgot I hadn't put this chapter up yet.)


End file.
